Years Age
by Draiq
Summary: Dean had been there; for Sam's whole life his older brother had watched over him. So why did things have to end like this? Yaoi/Slash, Dean/Sam, Wincest, Underage, M, Incomplete
1. I'm Here

Hiya peeps!

A new one! I thought I might have a play around with showing how Dean and Sam grew up together, I hope it goes okay!

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never had been, never will be.

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Sam was five, and he watched his older brother Dean like a hawk. His big innocent eyes were always tracking the other's movements, and his lips twitched into a small smile every time his brother returned the glance.

It was his first day of school, and Sam's little heart beat irrationally fast as his father dropped him at the front gate, motioning for him to open the door and leave. His father had never offered kind words of advice or encouragement, and five year old Sam was left to try and work it out on his own.

Panicking, his little fingers curled around the door handle, and he held his breath.

Suddenly the door was pulled open for him, and Dean was there, the early morning light shining behind him as he held his hand out for his little brother. "Come on Sammy, you can't spend all day sitting in the car."

Dean pulled him out into the open and dragged him to his feet, and slinging an arm around his little brother, he led him inside. All Sam could do was look at him with big, thankful eyes, and feel the gentle, reassuring weight of his brother's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

When he was seven, Sam had his first nightmare. He woke screaming, visions of Dean torn to shreds flashing before his eyes as he writhed and shrieked, tearing at the sheets that seemed to wish to strangle him.

But his bed had dipped as a weight settled on it, and within seconds his slender frame was being enfolded by Dean's much larger one. His brother cooed in his ear, shushing him quietly as he dragged Sam into his lap, curling his long arms around him so that he was wrapped tightly in his brother's embrace.

He shook and quivered, wailing quietly into Dean's chest as he gripped his shirt tightly, but Dean simply rocked him gently, and tightened his hold slightly. "It's okay Sammy, I'm here now, I'm here..."

On Sam's tenth birthday, he was once again pulled from the car by his older brother, but this time Dean's eyes shone with wicked intent.

Dean was fourteen by then, and Sam could do nothing but marvel at the way his brother had changed. Slowly but surely, Dean was filling out. His arms had become more corded, thin but powerful muscles stretching along his limbs so that as he moved, Sam could see them coil beneath his skin. Dean's hair was thick and dark, and his green eyes were constantly shining with mischief as his agile mind thought up trick after trick to play on his little brother.

And yet, as torturous and wily as Dean could be, he was also gentle and caring when it came to Sam, and those rare moments or affection made everything seem worth it.

As their father sped off, Dean grinned down at Sam and said, "well, Dad may not have remembered Sam, but I sure as hell did!" He pulled Sam into his chest for a hug, and grinning against his ear whispered, "happy birthday Sammy."

Sam's heart sung as he realised that Dean had known it was his birthday all along, and had only been feigning forgetfulness. Laughing joyously, he punched his brother hard, "you jerk! I thought you forgot!"

Dean held his hands up in mock surrender, "honestly Sammy?! That you would even think such a thing wounds me deeply!"

Grinning, he grabbed Sam's wrist and began pulling him down the road. When Sam asked where they were going, Dean looked back over his shoulder and grinned, "why, I'm taking you to the lake of course!"

And Dean had been true to his word. He had guided Sam the considerable way to the well hidden lake in the woods, not too far from the school, and when he'd opened his bag, Sam was happy to find Dean had snuck his swimming trunks inside.

The two spent the rest of the day playing in the lake, diving after each other, and playing 'loch ness'. Sam was good at catching Dean unaware, and dragging him beneath the water. But where Sam was good, Dean was better.

Gasping his defeat, Sam raised his hands and giggled, "please, enough Dean! I give!"

Dean grinned at his brother, and catching him around the waist, dragged him back to the shore. The two led in silence for a while longer, until Dean said they had better get dressed again, and head back to school, so that their father didn't realise they'd missed the day.

Sam nodded and began pulling his clothes on. Once he was done, he grabbed Dean's arm gently, and turned him so he could look properly into his eyes, "Thanks Dean, this was..." he blushed slightly and shook his head, "I love you" he mumbled at last.

Dean simply looked at Sam for a while, before grinning and pulling him into his arms, "I love you too Sammy."

By the time Sam was twelve, he didn't crawl into Dean's bed anymore, but that didn't mean the nightmares had stopped. At night he would grit his eyes closed and clutch at his sheets, praying the images would go away.

But Dean new Sam better than the other thought, and one night, when Sam was once again plagued by nightmares which he had now learnt to silence, he felt his mattress dip.

Dean was sixteen now, and his voice had deepened so that it was rough and yet silken, and as he inhaled a breath Sam squeezed his eyes closed.

"I can't stand watching this anymore!" Dean grumbled, before he sighed and reached a hand over to his little brother, gently tugging the sheets out of his grip.

The movement was what broke Sam's resolve, and he released a single, pained sob.

Within seconds his world was nothing but Dean, as the other boy, no, man, curled his arms around Sam's body in a way that he hadn't felt in months. "I don't care if you want to act all grown up, and don't come to me Sammy..." he murmured into his brother's ear as he dragged him close, settling him comfortably in his lap as he ran a reassuring hand through Sam's silken locks, "but don't expect me to respect that decision when I see you like this."

He tilted Sam's face up to his own, a gentle thumb wiping away a tear as he said quietly, "I don't care how old you are Sammy, I've got you, and I'm still here."

By thirteen, Sam dreaded the look that came into his brother's eyes as their gazes met first thing in the morning.

"Dad and I are going out on a hunt Sammy, will you be okay by yourself?"

Every time Dean said it, he wanted to shout, to scream, '_NO_! No I will _not_ be okay!' But he didn't. He knew Dean wanted to leave just about as much as Sam wanted to be left, and he knew he couldn't put the extra burden on his brother by saying no. His heart clenched painfully though; this would be the first night he had ever had to spend without Dean near.

So he simply helped Dean pack, moving in synchronicity with his brother as he gathered the things he would need. When Sam moved to pull the wickedly curved blade from under Dean's pillow, and hand it to his brother, Dean shook his head, pushing the blade gently back into Sam's hand. "This is yours now Sammy, if I'm not here to protect you, I want to know that you have a way to protect yourself."

Sam simply stood staring at the knife as it rested heavily in his palm.

"This is a silver blade, Sam" Dean said quietly, the seriousness of his tone, and the fact that he hadn't used Sam's pet name had the younger boy's eyes snapping up, knowing this conversation was serious. "This knife is blessed, cursed and salt dipped, it's pure silver, and it's engraved with enough runes to stave off almost anything you'll encounter on a run of the mill hunt, do you understand?"

Sam nodded, eyes wide, as he ran gentle fingertips along the sharp edge. Dean caught his eye again, and Sam listened intently.

"If anything comes after you, I don't want you to hesitate, okay Sammy?" when the younger boy nodded, Dean continued, "if it's me, or Dad, and something about us doesn't seem right, I want you to take this knife, and stab whoever or whatever it is that looks like us, okay?"

Sam's eyes flew wide, and he shook his head, "but what if it's really you Dean?!" he gasped out, his voice almost painful as he even thought it.

Dean shook his head and grinned, as he brought his little brother to his chest and crushed him into a hug, "you know me better than anyone Sammy, you won't get it wrong." He chuckled quietly, and grinning into his brother's neck mumbled, "and if it's Dad, well who cares if it's a shifter or not?"

Sam laughed, but it was nervously. He should have been focused on his brother's words, but instead all his ears had caught was the gravely tone in which they were spoken, and all his mind had registered after the first sentence was the way Dean's silken lips pressed so gently against the vulnerable skin of his throat.

Standing with a sigh, Dean pushed Sam away, "time for me to go Sammy."

Sam had been forced to watch as his brother and father left, _again_. He curled onto the couch and simply waited, he knew that this time they would be gone at least overnight, but somehow he couldn't bring his eyes to move away from the door.

He sat and waited, not bothering to get up and eat, his eyes simply trained on the door, mind dwelling on the wellbeing and safety of his brother, his most precious thing. At some point he fell asleep on the couch, Dean's knife held securely in his hand.

This time, when he woke screaming, there was no one there to hold him.

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Well there you go!

Please tell me what you think of it so far! Is it that hard to push the button...?


	2. Why?

Hiya peeps!

Back again with an update, I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never has been, never will be.

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Dean and their father returned late the next day, and Sam sprang from his seat on the couch hurriedly as he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the lot in front of the motel. Throwing the door wide, his eyes instantly sought out the familiar shape of his brother as the shiny black doors creaked open.

Dean slid from his place in the seat easily, and moved around to help their father out of the car. John Winchester was badly injured, and judging by the way he moved Sam assumed it was a couple of fractured ribs.

Dean ushered their father into the motel room, nodding to Sam as they went past. Sam followed the two inside, and shut the door behind them.

Dean settled their father onto the couch, and turned to Sam, "hey Sammy, I think Dad's fractured a rib or two, can you go and get the kit from the car, and we'll see if we can patch him up."

Sam nodded and ran to do Dean's bidding, before hurtling back into their room, first-aid kit in his hand. He put it down on the table, and turned to ask Dean where he should begin, only to be accosted with the sight of his brother sewing up a gash in his arm that he previously hadn't noticed.

Sam let out a startled cry as he saw the blood running down Dean's now cloth-free arm, he took a hurried step towards the other, but was stopped by Dean's serious gaze. "I'm fine Sammy, I can deal with this on my own, just get Dad bandaged up properly."

Sam's eyes were wide, but he nodded dumbly, turning back to their father. John Winchester simply rolled his eyes, "it's fine Dean, no need to be so serious, all I need is some taping."

Sam nodded, and began to press around his father's chest, checking to see which of the ribs were fractured. Admittedly Sam may have pressed a little harder than was strictly necessary, but he reasoned the man deserved it after talking to Dean that way.

After locating which ribs he thought were fractured he quickly set to applying strips of tape around each, restricting the movement around the fractures. Slowly he moved around his father, so that he could run his eyes over his brother, checking to see what damage he had sustained.

Dean was stood against the wall, his shirt off and a few small rivers of blood trailing down his right arm to where they dried amid his long fingers. His left hand held the needle perfectly steady as he pushed it into his own skin, pulling the thread through until he could pass the needle through the other side of the gash high on his arm.

Sam watched in wonderment as his brother sewed his own arm up, never emitting a sound from his lips, or even grimacing. Sam's pupils dilated as he saw the way his brother's eyes flashed every time the needle pierced his skin, and he pulled the thread tight, dragging his split skin slowly back together.

Sam's stomach fluttered uneasily, his eyes following a lonely trail of blood that ran from Dean's neck, right down his chest, where it dipped along with the contours of his abs and hips.

Sam swallowed the knot of _something_ in his throat, and returned to treating their father, his eyes sliding back to Dean only seconds after they'd left him.

That night, when Dean tried to hold Sam after another nightmare he shoved his brother away, tears still in his eyes and cries still at his lips. When Dean looked at him with confused eyes, Sam simply shook his head, "you don't belong in my bed Dean."

The next day Sam tried to wash out Dean's wound, but his older brother wouldn't have it. Dean shook his head and pushed Sam away gently, "I don't need your help Sam, the cut's been taken care of."

Sam's heart sunk as he heard those words, for though Dean had spoken evenly, the use of his real name stung worse than any other word could.

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When Sam was fourteen he still watched Dean like a hawk, his brother seemed to be everywhere around him, anywhere that he went or looked. It took Sam a long time to realise that that was because he was so used to doing everything with Dean, that even when he tried not to, his daily routine threw them back together.

Sam was older now, wiser, he knew that he could no more idolise Dean than he could their father. Dean was eighteen, and spent almost every night out drinking, hustling pool and sleeping with unknown women.

And yet, Sam was ashamed to admit to himself that, more often than not, he still found himself sitting on the motel couch and staring at the door, simply waiting for Dean to walk back through it.

Their father was almost always away now, and he would leave Sam in Dean's more than capable hands for weeks on end. Dean wasn't supposed to be hunting on his own, but Sam knew that quite often, the nights Dean spent away were used to kill.

Sometimes Dean would come home covered in blood, but after the night he had sewn up his own arm, it was almost never his. On those nights he would walk back through the door grinning, his chiselled face marred by a streak of blood, as he stripped his gore-sodden clothes from his well muscled frame.

Sam hated those nights, because Dean always came home so wired. He would grin at Sam in a way that had his stomach twisting, and ruffle his hair with a casual movement, flicking item after item of clothing onto his bed as he removed them.

Sam would always have to force his eyes away, say something biting, _anything_, to draw his attention away from the blood-soaked vision before him. What was it about Dean and blood that had his own blood boiling, his heart thumping, and his breathing harsh?

But then came the truly horrible part.

Often, Dean would move back out of the steaming bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, and dressing quickly would attempt to lie on his bed and watch television. But he was always fidgety, and after just a short while, would get back up and grab his coat, telling Sam not to wait up, as he went out to find a woman.

The door would close with a snap, and Sam would be left sitting on his bed, staring at it. It wasn't so hard really, to act like it didn't bother him, but Sam felt the way his own body reacted as that door closed behind Dean, and he knew that it really did.

Dean was tall now, excruciatingly so, and Sam was forced to look up into his dark green eyes whenever he looked at his brother. Dean owned the Impala now too, and on the occasions when he took Sam to school, his calloused hands slid familiarly along the wheel as he drove with such finesse as to make it seem effortless. Dean was also agonizingly well muscled.

Sam knew he had an obsession; he understood that fact every time his eyes trailed down his brother's body with just a little too much heat to their gaze. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there was something very, _very_ wrong with him.

Dean was unimaginably good at noticing everything about Sam, and so, he spent every day in fear of being discovered, and yet, was unable to pull his eyes away. Sam reasoned that he was fourteen, and thus in an almost hormonal frenzy, but even this failed to justify the way Dean made him feel.

It was on one such blood-filled night that Sam snapped.

Seconds after Dean moved to his feet, ready to leave, Sam bared the door. When Dean looked at him, confused, Sam simply shook his head, "no, you don't get to leave tonight. You're going to stay right here and spend the time with me!"

Dean took a step back, eyes flying wide, before he collected himself, ran a hand through his hair, and mumbled "why?"

Sam could feel his blood begin to boil with rage, "you think you can spend every night away like this?! Dad told you to take care of me, doesn't that mean you should actually spend some time with me?!"

Dean's eyes blew wide with anger, and before he had the chance to realise he'd obviously said something _very_ wrong, Dean was right in Sam's space, slamming him angrily against the motel door and holding him there.

"How dare you?!" he hissed venomously, slamming Sam against the wood again to emphasise his words, "I've tried for a fucking _year_ Sam, you won't let me near you when you most need it. You spend every fucking night _screaming_ my name, and whenever I try to help you shove me away!"

Dean shoved harder into Sam, forcing him to meet his eyes, "you expect me to stick around and listen to that, when I can't fix it?! And then when I leave you accuse me of not caring for you!"

Dean let go of Sam, shoving his brother away from the door and back into the centre of the room.

Sam met Dean's smouldering green eyes, and the man shook his head, "you're fucking despicable Sam" he said quietly, before opening the door and walking through, slamming it hard behind him.

Sam stood in the dark room in silence, and wondered just when things had started to go so wrong.

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Well there you go! What do you think? Please let me know, you're reviews make my day a little brighter!

You've come this far, is it really that hard to push the button?


	3. Only He

Hiya peeps!

Sorry it's been a while, but I kinda didn't know where I was taking this next XZ but not to worry, I have ideas in my head now!

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never was, never will be, etcetera etcetera.

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Sam sat on the couch in silence, his eyes locked on the door but not really seeing it.

Dean hadn't come back, and with weary eyes Sam silently took note of the bright morning sun shining through the gaps in the curtains. His head lolled slightly as he fought to keep his eyes open and mind centred on the door, hoping and praying for it to open.

Once again his mind began replaying the argument they'd had before Dean stormed out, and once again he was left asking himself why.

When he started that conversation, he had felt so in the right, so completely and utterly justified. But with just a few words Dean had completely collapsed his reasoning, sending it crashing down around his ears in a crescendo that refused to cease its echoes.

It had been a year since he'd last allowed Dean to help him after a nightmare, and ever since, every time he woke from a dream with a snap, he was silent. He would lie there awake, and force himself not to make a sound, not to clue Dean in.

Was it true that he screamed every night before he woke?

Sam couldn't even fathom the implications of what that might mean. He didn't even know what he dreamt about that made him so terrified when he awoke; he hadn't been able to remember a single one of his dreams since that first, horrifying nightmare when he was seven.

He gritted his teeth angrily, his mind flip-flopping in much the same way as his belly was as he changed it almost on a whim. No, this wasn't his fault! Dean was the one who was always ignoring him, leaving him alone every night so that he could go out and drink, fuck and kill.

Sam's thoughts turned bitter as he remembered night after night of waking up alone, Dean's bed cold and empty beside his.

Sam's nails bit angrily into his palms as his mind continued its hurt tirade for the millionth time that night. He was helping Dean by keeping him out of his bed at night! Ever since that day a year ago, when Sam had witnessed Dean sewing up his own arm, he had known he needed to buck up and stop being such a baby.

Dean had endured the pain of stabbing his own flesh again and again, pulling and stretching it by his own actions, and he had done all of it without a word, indeed, without apparent remorse or acknowledgement. Sam had seen his brother then, and known that he could not keep acting the way he did; could not demand more from his brother than he already gave.

And what had Dean done?! He'd thrown it back in his face! Sam tried so hard every single night not to trouble his brother, so that he could sleep and be well rested for the hard work he did every day. He tried to make sure that Dean didn't have to worry about him, but instead of saving his brother from that worry, Dean seemed to hate him for it.

Sam crumpled a little further in on himself, his anger dissipating as he blinked weakly. His eyes snapped open with a start as there was a knock at the door.

Jumping from his seat he wobbled tiredly to the door, and threw it wide open.

Standing on the step outside was Dean, grinning widely at him, "sorry Sam, I forgot my key." He pushed past his younger brother gently, before heading to the small fridge and grabbing out a beer.

Sam's eyes were wide as he closed the door quietly, before turning back to his brother, "Dean?"

The older man looked up and caught his gaze, smiling warmly, "yeah Sam?"

Sam blinked confusedly, "where were you all night?" His brother seemed entirely too happy, and Sam idly wondered if he'd gotten so drunk last night that he simply forgot their argument. It seemed like a long shot.

Dean raised an eyebrow, "just out hooking up, grabbing a few beers, why?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair tiredly, "you mean you're not still angry about last night?"

The older man looked at him questioningly, before shrugging, "nah, we're cool."

Sam felt something inside of him begin to break; after all of that, all the hours he spent worrying and caring, and that was how little it meant to his brother? He thought their relationship had come to some great boiling point, or moment of truth, or _something_...and _this_ was how Dean felt?!

Sam's body shook with barely restrained anger and pain as his eyes continued to stare blankly into his brother's face, his teeth clenched so tightly together that his jaw ached. "I see." He managed to gasp out at last, his voice sounding tight and restrained.

Dean put the beer down, the questioning look once again alighting on his features as he took a step towards his younger brother, "are you okay Sammy?" he asked quietly.

Sam's eyes flew wide for a second, his teeth clenching once again as he fought to keep the emotion down, "why are you here Dean?" he asked angrily.

Dean eyed him warily, "what do you mean why am I here? I wanted to see my little brother, and I came home this late because I've been planning a trip for us. I thought maybe you'd like to go to the sea or something, you know, for a change?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, "did you now?"

Dean took another step forward, his face turning angry as he moved closer to the younger man, "look Sam, I don't know what your beef with me is right now, but can't we just forget it and go? We're family, and I want to hit the road."

Sam face softened and he took a step forward, looking up into Dean's face he smiled, "yeah, sure Dean...sorry about that." He rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly, before meeting his brother's eyes again, "but maybe you'll forgive me if I go with my real brother instead of you."

Dean's eyes flew wide with shock as Sam moved with razor-sharp speed, his arm blurring as he brought it from behind his back, and around to meet the soft flesh of Dean's side.

The man gasped and spluttered, his eyes wide and shock-filled as he slowly doubled over, hands moving to grip his wounded side, where Sam's Dagger was still sunk deep into his flesh.

Hissing, Dean tried to grab Sam, but the younger boy dodged out of his reach, before darting around him, and stabbing harshly at his other side. Dean cried out painfully, and Sam gasped as he heard his brother's voice rasp against his ears with agony.

"Why Sam?!" he gasped, "Sammy I love you!"

Sam cried out, tears streaking down his face as he screamed, "you don't love me! You don't even know me!" and with one final, harsh thrust, he slipped the dagger right through the other's neck.

With a tight voice he gasped out, "and only he gets to call me that!"

Dean collapsed onto his knees, his eyes blown wide with pain as blood began to trickle out of his mouth. He gasped a few times before slowly, painfully collapsing sideways.

Sam saw him go as if in slow motion, his brother's eyes losing focus as they drifted away from his face and into the back of his skull. The body made an almost inaudible thudding noise as it hit the old carpet, staining the cheerful green a dark, surly brown.

Sam held the dagger in front of him, his eyes trained uneringly on the blood that was dripping from it slowly.

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes listed slowly towards the open door, his expression slack as his eyes met the sight of his beloved big brother.

Dean's eyes were wide, a harsh frown on his lips as he stepped carefully close to his little brother, "Sammy, put down the knife, okay?"

Sam's mind dimly registered the words, spoken in the soft, dulcet tones he knew so well, and slowly his arm began to shake.

His eyes drifted until they caught Dean's, and his brother nodded at him gently, taking a few more steps inside the room, "that's right Sam, it's me, I'm here now."

Sam's eyes slowly widened, before they snapped back to the dagger in his hand, blood dripping down his fingers and forearm.

He gasped, and dropped the dagger like he had been burned, his eyes flying wide as he jumped back and away from the pool of blood he was standing in, gasping as silent tears leaked from his eyes.

His flailed out blindly, falling backwards with shock, but was caught before he got anywhere near hitting the ground; his brother's arms wrapping around him strongly and pulling him tight against a firm chest. Sam gasped for air, his lungs constricting and heart racing as he clutched at the arms around him.

Dean rested his body against the wall, pulling Sam into his lap and enveloping him with as much of his body as he could as he tried to calm the boy down, "it's okay Sammy, I'm here, I've got you. Just breath, that's it, in and out nice and slow."

Sam's gasps eventually began to ease, but his fingers never released their bone-breaking grip on Dean's arm, though the older man didn't seem to mind.

Eventually, when Sam had fallen silent, and was cradled safely in Dean's arms, his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Dean spoke.

"How did you know Sammy?" he whispered quietly, looking over at the body that was hauntingly like his own.

Sam shivered within the safe confines of Dean's arms, and said tiredly, "I didn't at first. But he didn't say it right."

Dean rubbed Sam's back gently, before catching his eyes, "what didn't he say right?"

Sam hiccoughed quietly, sniffling as he dropped his gaze, "my name...Sammy...he didn't say it right."

Dean bit his lip angrily as he pulled his brother a little closer, "I think I understand now."

Sam hid his head in Dean's chest before continuing, "and also, you haven't told me you love me in years."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, "that's not true Sam."

Sam pressed further into his brother's chest, feeling the press of strong muscle against his own gangly frame, "the last time you told me you loved me was my tenth birthday Dean."

Sam felt Dean stiffen, and began to pull away from him, but Dean wouldn't allow it, pulling his brother tightly to him once again. "You're just not listening like you used to Sam...that's all." Dean sighed tiredly, his fingers never stopping their gentle caressing of Sam's flesh, trying to coax him into relaxing again.

Sam bit his lip, "you haven't said it!" he defied, "I know you haven't."

Dean shook his head, before catching Sam's face and turning it to his own. He smiled gently before speaking.

"Like I said, you're not listening Sammy... I tell you I love you every day."

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Okay, now I know this leaves a lot of loose ends, but don't worry, things will be cleared up in later chapters!

Also, I was thinking, we miss almost EVERYTHING about what's going on with Dean in this story, and I was wondering if there would be any interest in me re-writing this one, but from Dean's POV? It would be very different, and not at all like reading the same thing...so what do you think?

Reviews make me write quicker XD

You've come all this way, is it really so hard to push the button?


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